


Blood in the Ashes

by Destiny_in_the_Universe



Series: Falling from the Ashes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Injury, Kidnapped Mycroft, Kidnapping, Mycroft Whump, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-16 19:10:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destiny_in_the_Universe/pseuds/Destiny_in_the_Universe
Summary: Mycroft ends up kidnapped and deals with all that comes with it."Monsters are real, ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win."- Stephen King





	Blood in the Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> I... am so sorry. I wanted something where Mycroft got severely hurt and it was honestly just whump.

The first thing that he realized when he came to was that he was bound to a metal pole, his wrists held tightly behind his back by metal handcuffs. He had a pounding headache, causing him to let out an involuntary groan. Mycroft's umbrella and any other weapons had been removed from his possession. 

 

Mycroft grunted, attempting to vainly loosen the cuffs, but they were on too strongly. 

 

"You know, it's pointless to struggle," a smooth, cool collected voice called out. 

 

Mycroft's dark-colored irises glared at his captor, a sharp hiss escaping his following words. 

 

"You shouldn't have kidnapped me." 

 

The man's captor was young, nearing his early thirties, with dark, tousled hair and cold gray eyes, darkening in expression. He wore a black dress shirt, a tie pulled tightly over it. His teeth were bared like a wolf's and his face only seemed to make him murderous, void of any remorse. 

 

"Do you know why you're here?" The gray-eyed male asked, a low snarl forming. 

 

Mycroft replied with an annoyed grunt, twisting his cuffed hands. 

 

"Your dear, darling  _brother_ has something I want," the man continued, starting to pace back and forth like a caged lion. He paused, a cold smile forming. "But the only way to get him to act is through you." 

 

"I am not someone you should-" Mycroft's words ended with a pained cry as he was punched hard in the nose, feeling blood trickling down and reaching his now red-stained lips. Coughing, he bit back another comment, not wishing to be beaten again. 

 

"I don't care who you are," the man holding the elder Holmes hissed. "Trust me when I say you will be going through pure misery." 

 

Mycroft still tried to escape his restraints, assessing where he was. His eyes scanned the area, realizing he was in some sort of old, abandoned factory. Judging by the horrid smell, it was likely where people used to make food, bread perhaps. Rust stained the walls and a bit of water trickled slowly into the floor. 

 

"Getting comfortable?" The sound of his captor cooed. "Why don't I help you get settled in?" He flicked open a knife, holding it inches from Mycroft's neck, causing his captive to freeze. Slowly pushing it upwards, he managed to draw a thin line of blood, but it wasn't enough to cause major damage. 

 

"Who are you?" Mycroft spat as he suddenly screamed when the knife plunged into his shoulder, the hilt twisting to worsen the pain. 

 

"Oh, of course, you should know my name. I want you to know it when you sleep because I will always be there," the man laughed, a cold, taunting sound. He leaned forward, sneering to whisper in his newest victim's ear. 

 

"It's Cyrus." 

 

The name alone wasn't enough to send chills down Mycroft's back. He didn't seem fazed, not giving the satisfaction of a response. He gritted his teeth as he was punched in his wounded shoulder, biting down firmly to avoid crying out from the blinding pain that suddenly came from the hit. 

 

Cyrus smirked, "you may not be afraid now... but you will." 

 

What came next was startling. Mycroft's cuffs were removed, which gave him the chance to try and fight back, but he only ended up on the ground, winded and panting. A kick was aimed at his side, though he didn't whimper or cry out. The man moved to stand, ending up useless when he was pinned down, his wrists held above his head with one hand. 

 

"That wasn't very smart," Cyrus snarled, closing his one free hand around his captive's neck and beginning to squeeze to cut off circulation. 

 

Mycroft was struggling to breathe, twisting his wrists in an attempt to loosen the hold. Spots started dancing in his vision, biting back a whine. Instead, he went limp, submissively going still so that Cyrus would take it and let go. 

 

That's a good boy," Cyrus crooned. "But for your earlier act of defiance, you will be punished." His eyes darkened, wolfishly snarling as he hauled Mycroft to his feet, handcuffing the Holmes once again. 

 

Mycroft had little choice but to stumble after his captor. He grunted, being pushed forward, going through a foul-stenched corridor. After what felt like a minute or two, he was led to another room, keeping his face blank even as he registered the items inside. There was a table, similar to the ones from a hospital, though this one was littered with equipment used for torture and to make matters far worse, there was a cage situated in the left corner. 

 

"You're going to be a good now, aren't you?" Cyrus smiled. 

 

"I am not-" Mycroft gagged as he was pulled forward by his shirt collar, cutting off his ability to breathe for a moment. He stumbled and landed hard on his knees after Cyrus decided to deliver a hard kick to his back. The government official snarled, being roughly shoved into the cage. "You won't get away with this."

 

"But I already have." Cyrus smirked, spitting on the floor of his captive's new holding space. 

 

Mycroft didn't say another word, refusing to give his captor by the enjoyment of him lashing out. He sat up since he barely had any room to stand, his eyes narrowing but he was left alone in the room for about an hour. 

 

The cycle lasted a while. Cyrus would beat Mycroft, leaving him a bloodied pulp on the ground. The gray-eyed man was a wolf and a shark, delivering a series of creative punishments as Cyrus liked to call it. He once had Mycroft down on his knees, hands shackled, with a torn shirt and a knife drawing blood on his chest. 

 

There was one time when Mycroft had been chained to the wall, a collar placed around his neck which was also hooked in place, forced to behave and eat like a common stray. 

 

Mycroft refused to break, even when he was beaten or caged. He spat up blood after a nasty "punishment" and curled in on himself, having little option on trying to escape. The last time had resulted in him being locked in that dreaded cage, his hands restrained behind his back and his own tie used to keep him from talking, and to top it off, Cyrus had his way with a knife. 

 

Of course, by this point, someone surely noticed his odd absence from work. 

 

"Is the good doggie going to stay down?" Cyrus taunted as he flipped his captive onto his back, hands squeezing Mycroft's neck. 

 

Fight or flight instincts took over and Mycroft was clawing desperately to loosen the grip, gasping for air, tears shining heavily in his eyes. He hissed when his neck was released, but that didn't mean the beating was over. 

 

Cyrus' knees held the man's legs down and a hand pinned Mycroft's wrists, while the other simply pressed down hard on still healing wounds and injuries. 

 

Burning pain coursed through Mycroft, forcing a scream from his throat. He thrashed wildly, panic building up in an attempt to escape. The yowls only got louder until a palm clapped tightly over his mouth. As a result, Mycroft bit down hard, teeth digging into skin. He didn't care at the moment of the blood he was currently tasting. 

 

Cyrus howled and let go of his captive, eyes darkening with pure fury, lips curled in a feral snarl. He looked downright murderous and slammed his foot down on Mycroft's head. 

 

Stars danced in Mycroft's vision, the man's forehead throbbing wildly. He groaned softly, barely registering as his hands were bound tightly with some kind of fabric. The man stumbled, being led down a corridor, dragged into yet another room, this time dimly lit. 

 

He scowled, feeling glass embed themselves into his feet. Mycroft winced with every step, already heavily malnourished and lacking the old features of when he wasn't captured. He staggered again, collapsing on all fours from a sudden blow to the head. 

 

"And stay down." Cyrus smirked. 

 

"Fuck you." Mycroft hissed as his world went black, head spinning out of control. 

 

He awoke to yet more bruises on his body, a mixture of yellow and ugly splotches of green. Lying flat on his side, he realized he couldn't move, because of the unimaginable pain crashing everywhere. Blood was trickling down his eyes and he realized with a sinking feeling that he wasn't able to see very well, even after he'd shakily wiped away the blood. Now partially blind, he was in a worse predicament than before. 

 

What a long night it would be. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm considering making this a series. What do you all think?


End file.
